


here forever

by marin27



Category: Spider-Man (Video Games 2018-2020), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, No Beta We Die Like Aunt May, Older Man/Younger Man, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Canon, Post-Canon: Spider-Man: Miles Morales, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marin27/pseuds/marin27
Summary: “I lost my soulmate.”There’s sudden stillness in the air. The typing stops.Miles doesn’t look in Peter’s direction, staring up at the ceiling as he continues to throw his phone, arcing up in the air and landing in his hands like a steady heartbeat.“I kinda met my soulmate a couple years ago. I didn’t know he was the one until—until I was too late. Actually, he might not even be the one but, y’know. It’s not like he would know either.”—ORMiles knows that he met his soulmate years ago, back at the Oscorp Science Centre.He just didn't know they met again, two years later, at his father's funeral.--A self-indulgent, obligatory soulmate AU fic. There's a flashback in one of Miles' missions, when he and Phin were trying to break into Oscorp Centre's museum, and Miles actually bumps into Peter there. I basically wrote a soulmate fic around that!
Relationships: Miles Morales & Mary Jane Watson, Miles Morales/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Mary Jane Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 50





	here forever

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda got carried away with this, tbh.
> 
> The soulmate trope was originally going to be used in another fic idea that has way more plot, but I also wanted to explore the soulmate trope with these two without extra plot in the way first.
> 
> So, this happened. I literally wrote 80% of this at like 12am so—
> 
> I'm guessing this is about a year or so after Miles Morales, so yeah.
> 
> I tried to get more angst, and hopefully, it worked! I hope you guys enjoy this! Tell me what you think!
> 
> Edit: there was a whole section that must have been accidentally deleted, so I just re added it again. Oop, embarrassing.

> _Dreamlike connections will arrive upon your port._
> 
> _Most are like tourists who come and go._
> 
> _Soulmates too, feel like a dream—_
> 
> _But they stay, they always stay._
> 
> -Clairel Estevez

Miles lost his soulmate.

Oh, god. Alright, it’s not that dramatic, he swears.

But, he’d met his soulmate and lost him.

Him.

Yeah. Miles learned on that day he’s bisexual too, which was a crazy revelation to have at fourteen.

But that’s not important. He’d met his soulmate and lost him.

It was on the day that he and Phin’s project was going up on the museum, their energy convertor displayed in the special exhibit. Somehow, they weren’t allowed in which is… It’s really just a stupid rule that should probably be checked out because why wouldn’t they extend invitations to the people whose works are on display—

Anyways.

The way that media had presented the whole soulmate shtick: that it was extraordinary and incredible and a once in a lifetime thing. It made Miles expect a little bit more of a warning—a little more ‘oompf’.

Even his parents had a little more of warning than he ever did. The story they told him, how they met, touched each other, and how both of them had that simultaneous _click_ , of that spark that ignited and signified the start their lives together.

Miles never had any of that.

He and Phin were experimenting on one of the new technologies there, planning to break their way into the exhibit. He remembers how he turned and bumped into a man. A strong shoulder, a brush of their hands, a small apologetic smile, Miles’ quick apology and then—

“All good.”

Written in small, scribbly, hasty words, lining underneath his last right rib.

_All good._

That was it.

The words so unoriginal, trite, that they could have been so easily said by anyone else who bumped into Miles on any other street. It is why Miles didn’t realize it until it was too late. He had run right out of the museum, searching the crowds to look for that man—but he was gone.

Miles doesn’t even remember his face. All he remembers is the kind smile, the dark hair and his strong shoulders.

He barely even remembers the color of his eyes.

His soulmate was as good as gone.

There really was no telling if he’d see the man ever again.

***

Miles tries to convince himself that he would know if he meets his soulmate again. But honestly, Miles doesn’t have a goddamn clue if he would know. His soulmate could be someone he passed by in a grocery shop, someone who he’d seen in someone else’s Instagram photo, and he would be none the wiser. There was really no way for him to know.

Except for seeing his soulmate’s mark himself.

He may not remember what he looked like, but Miles remembers what he said. Miles’ words were also so blasé, something that the man must hear twice or three times a day.

_Sorry._

Just one word.

Simple.

Straight to the point.

Stupid.

Its why Miles doesn’t blame the guy for not realizing it either.

Miles should have said something more remarkable, something that would stick out that would make the guy turn around and proclaim that he’s his soulmate.

There was no spark, no _click._

It might have something to do with the fact that he and Phin were running on adrenaline at that time too, excited to be breaking into a museum to see their long work come into fruition.

Stupid.

* * *

“Is MJ your soulmate?”

A loud clang and a hiss. Miles leans over in his seat from Peter’s desk chair, feet propped on his desk.

Peter was hunched over his worktable, working tediously on Miles’ busted pair of webshooters. The combination of water and his venom-power fried Peter’s tech to hell. Miles had tried to apologize, but Peter only said that it’s good they would a flaw in his webshooters.

_Glad to have caught this. Hoo, better to find out now than in a fight against Hydroman or... something. Do we have any other water-themed villains in my friends list?_

Really, Peter is just too nice for his own good.

His mentor is rubbing the back of his head, the spot where his desk lamp smacked into him when he shot up. Miles blinks innocently at him as Peter shoots him a look.

“Uh, why do you wanna know, buddy?” Peter asks, going back to his work instead of facing Miles, facing his laptop, typing furiously over his keyboard.

Miles isn’t dumb. He’s known Peter long enough that the man is using his _‘I’ll just ignore eye contact in this uncomfortable conversation’_ tactic.

Miles doesn’t speak immediately, leaning back in Peter’s chair.

He shrugs, flipping his phone in the air, catching it perfectly—the rhythm and motion of the action making the words come out a little easier.

“I lost my soulmate.”

There’s sudden stillness in the air. The typing stops.

Miles doesn’t look in Peter’s direction, staring up at the ceiling as he continues to throw his phone, arcing up in the air and landing in his hands like a steady heartbeat.

“I kinda met my soulmate a couple years ago. I didn’t know he was the one until—until I was too late. Actually, he might not even be the one but, y’know. It’s not like he would know either.”

“Why not?” Peter’s voice is soft, as if afraid of ruining the quiet.

Miles hopes his voice doesn’t betray the lump forming in his throat. “Our words weren’t, like, anything that stood out. He didn’t realize and neither did I. I just kinda thought it was gonna be something _big_ and something I can’t miss. It was stupid.” Miles stops throwing his phone, now staring at Peter, who wears a frown, “Wasn’t it? I mean, I’m sure there’s people whose marks say ‘Hello’ or ‘Excuse me’ or something super sad like that.”

Peter’s brows furrow, lips slightly pursed. The same look he makes when Miles does something to worry him. Like now.

“No. It’s not stupid.” Peter says softly, shaking his head.

His hands flutter over his lap, as if wanted to reach out but don’t quite know how to. “Do you—Do you want a hug?”

Miles turns to him, staring at Peter who doesn’t waver. Miles crumbles then, drops his feet off of Peter’s desk, spins the chair and nods jerkily at him.

Peter doesn’t waste time, swoops up to his feet and closes the distance, kneeling down before Miles.

Miles doesn’t get up from his chair, reaching out to mirror Peter’s movements, both of them encasing each other in an embrace. Peter’s hugs are always the best.

Miles breathes out shakily, and Peter’s hold tightens. His soulmate is something he tries not to think about, but it’s something he can’t forget—he doesn’t _want_ to.

His soulmate is supposed to be a part of him, someone who will get him better than anyone else. And he _lost_ them.

Hie swallows hard around his throat.

“I just get kinda jealous sometimes, you get me? Whenever people talk about their soulmates or whatever, that it’s something amazing and incredible and mine was just—”

On his neck, he can feel Peter lips twist into a frown, and Peter pulls away, something in Miles’ chest going cold.

“Miles, you know you have people who love you, right? Your mom, the people at F.E.A.S.T., your uncle, your friends,” Peter smiles then, warm and comforting, squeezing Miles’ shoulder, “Me. You don’t _have_ to have a soulmate, you know? Lots of people don’t have soulmates and they’re doing fine. Like me, for example.”

Miles blinks at that, distracted temporarily, “You don’t have a soulmate?”

Peter shrugs, laughs a little, bashful. “Yeah. I kind of lost mine too. I didn’t realize it was them until after I stopped a whole robbery _and_ ordered my pizza. So, I’m pretty sure that my soulmate is pissed about that.”

Miles laughs, pulling away completely to punch at Peter’s chest. “You know no one can be mad at you, man.”

Peter rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “Tell that to half of the inmates on the Raft.”

Miles shakes his head. “Seriously, Pete. Everyone who knows you are basically in love with you. You’re like, the equivalent to a puppy that doesn’t stop barking. Annoying, but cute.”

Peter pushes at his head, rolling his eyes again as he gets back to his feet. “Yeah, yeah.”

Miles tilts his head, staring at Peter. “So, MJ isn’t your soulmate?”

“Nope,” Peter says, hunching over his table again, fiddling with wires.

Miles slumps back into his seat, thoughtful. “Huh.”

* * *

The blast had hurt. _A lot._ But it’s not really surprising when Miles made the split-second decision to take one for the team.

He yanked the bomb away when it only had five seconds left on the clock and, since he was the closest, took most of the blow’s damage, not having enough time to web the bomb up. The explosion was strong enough to send Miles flying, crashing through three barriers of drywall in some backend, abandoned shoe factory.

His whole body ached and every time he breathed, he chokes on dust, the air stifled by the grit and dirt from the destruction. His ears were ringing too. Miles isn’t sure if that’s a normal thing for Spider-people like them. He’ll have to ask Peter later.

He just lays there, still as a rock, really star-fishing over the rubble, not wanting to agitate a single bruise or worsen his soreness. Plus, every time he moved his head, the room spun just a bit.

_Okay, uh. Maybe this isn’t so good. Ah, well. I’ve had worse._

His mind drifts. And he thinks back to what he and Peter talked about last week. Soulmates. Not something to dwell on when he’s pretty sure he’s got a concussion. Then again, he’s not really thinking straight so he reckons he’s allowed some mental leeway.

He’s heard of the tales, the exaggerated myths and read the reddit posts. About the soul-bond or whatever. Like, when you think of your soulmate, whether you’re in danger or in need of someone, your soulmate will be able to feel it in their mark.

Miles knows he’s delirious when he does exactly that. He’s pathetic, he’s pretty sure.

He tries to think of the kind smile, the dark hair, tries to imagine the apologetic tone saying the words that are scribbled over his skin.

He’d once tried to see if he could identify the handwriting. But the handwriting was generic and was basically chicken scratch, like the words were written faster than their hands could catch up. His and Phin’s handwriting were like that. Messy and hurried.

He can only laugh in his head when he thinks of his soulmate just popping into existence right next to him, all because he’d _wished_ for it.

“Miles?”

He can hear the footfalls of his mentor, searching for Miles.

Miles coughs, raises a hand. “Over here, Pete,” he rasps, and can only watch as Peter jumps over the rubble, rushing over to Miles’ side.

Miles doesn’t really care to listen to anything that Peter says—he’s pretty sure the man’s talking, the mask is shifting—because he’s too focused on the fact Peter is worried. Miles can always tell when he is. And Miles doesn’t like to worry anyone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, before his mind can catch up.

“—most of them are gone so—what? Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Sorry,” Miles mumbles, groaning when Peter guides him to his feet, and leans his weight against his friend.

Peter’s head blurs in his vision. Miles is pretty sure he’s shaking his head. “Miles, it’s all good. I’ve got it covered. The police are already here. Not your fault.”

_All good._

“Yeah,” Miles mumbles, “It’s all good.”

He feels his eyes roll to the back of his head and promptly passes out.

* * *

Mom goes overboard for dinner. But Miles supposes that’s better than not inviting Peter at all.

The dinner somehow isn’t as awkward as he thought it was gonna be. It’s okay, as dinners go, especially since the last time his mom talked to Peter was at his dad’s funeral.

Not exactly a fun topic to broach, but something that his mom had carefully pointed out.

That was probably the worst part of the dinner, with mom’s surprised curiosity and Peter’s subdued patience, Miles was stuck in the middle of trying to ease off mom’s harder questions but also have his own questions answered.

It was obvious that the topic made Peter uncomfortable, since it’s not-so-well-hidden that Peter still partly blames himself for his dad’s death.

(They don’t talk about it. And Miles finds that fact okay. They don’t need to rehash something that happened years ago. Besides, he doesn’t like that look of crushing guilt on Peter’s face. It doesn’t look right on him.)

But those harder topics eventually taper off into safer territory.

Peter’s laughing at something that his mom said, grinning politely. And Miles turns to quip back at something that Peter said, only to stop in place.

There’s something about Peter at that moment, something about his hair or his face—no, it’s his smile. Something about it, a little amused, polite, kind.

It itches a memory in Miles’ head, something far and distant. Miles tries to reach for it, tries to grab it with both hands and see what made him stop and stare—but it falls through his fingers like sand.

“Miles?”

He blinks. His mom and Peter have stopped talking, both of them staring at Miles.

Miles coughs a bit, averting his eyes. “There was a fly over your shoulder.”

“Oh. Okay.” Peter cocks a brow but doesn’t pry.

His mom, on the other hand, shoots him a look as she sips on her wine.

Miles resolutely doesn’t look at either at them for the rest of dinner.

It can’t be him. That would be ridiculous. Besides, Peter’s like twenty-five now, _and_ Miles doesn’t see him that way.

* * *

“You two will call me, right? Keep me updated?” Miles hums an affirmative, dodging the large crane in front of him as Peter yells over the wind, “Yeah, of course, MJ. We’ll give a heads-up when we find something.”

“Good, that’s good. You know Robbie won’t stop riding on me for this, but I really can’t be out for field—”

“Because you broke your foot? After trying to chase down a wanted murderer?” Peter hisses, landing next to Miles on a fire escape, but it’s too worried and fond for it to be truly heated. The same way he talks to Miles sometimes.

“Are you ever going to stop rubbing that in my face?” MJ snipes back and again, it’s way too fond for it be scathing.

“Only if you let me cook dinner.”

Miles turns to Peter, whose cheeks are lifted under the mask, probably doing that dopey grin thing that Miles sees him wear sometimes.

Miles stares down at the city, blinking slowly. He’s not really looking at anything, his ears sharply pinned to their conversation, the intonation of Peter’s voice and words—fond and caring.

“Easy, tiger. It depends on the menu.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to try out a new beef stew recipe if you don’t mind me experimenting.”

“If there aren’t any kitchen fires, I’m all for it.”

“That’s what pizza delivery is for.”

They’re so… disgustingly domestic. It’s cute.

Miles breathes New York’s _finest_ air in, chest rattling. He feels warm, neck and cheeks heated. Something in his stomach curls. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that burrito right before starting patrol.

“I’ll talk to you soon, MJ.”

“It’s good to talk to you, Pete. You too, Miles. Bye.” MJ says, before promptly cutting off the three-way call.

It’s strange to think that Miles was a part of this trio long before Miles even knew Peter was Spider-man. He was helping Peter before even knowing who was under the mask. And it’s stranger to think about how naïve he was back then, saying that MJ was Spider-man’s girlfriend, even if he was right on the money.

He’d been tempted to cut the two of them off with a quip, something to release the tension between the two lovebirds. But something held him back—something hot that slid between his ribcage had him listening in to their flirting.

“You ready to go, Miles?”

Miles tries for a smile, thankful for the mask. “Ready when you are, Pete.”

_Nah. Nah, Peter’s just a bro. A friend. That’s all._

Peter’s touch on his shoulder makes him blink, watching as the man falls off the building with careless ease.

_Naw. That would just be too weird._

* * *

Peter isn’t breathing. Miles was too slow, and Peter isn’t breathing.

He can’t hear his heartbeat either, even when he focused on keeping his super hearing right on Peter himself, so high on adrenaline, his own heartbeat is deafening to his own ears.

Peter isn’t breathing and it’s his fault.

(Dad wasn’t breathing either when he went to him. Too slow, too young, too naïve, _too weak—)_

“C’mon, Pete,” Miles hisses, hovering over Peter’s chest after he’d dragged him to an alleyway, glad to be out of peering eyes just for a minute. Peter’s unconscious, he has to be—Miles desperately tries not to think of the alternative.

He tries to think of how his father taught him CPR, tries not to think about how the chest under his palms isn’t moving like it’s supposed to—tries not to stare at Peter’s mask. Peter is always so emotive, so easy to read, even under the mask, but he’s so still now, unmoving.

He starts counting in his head, keeps a consistent beat like it’s another one of his mixes, locks in his elbows and pushes.

(Dad was gone so fast, everything happening in a flash of heat and white.)

They were careless this time. Rhino had gotten loose from the webs _Miles_ wrapped him in _—your fault, your fault, yourfault—_ and had brutally rammed Peter a full block down the road. Miles was able to get Rhino down fast enough because of the sheer panic that fueled him—

Peter was thrown so far—so, so lifeless, his head cracking against the pavement like—

He wasn’t thinking straight, running on pure instinct when he brought Rhino down, venom-striking him so hard even Miles needed two moments to recover. But once he did, he’d never run so fast in his life.

Peter isn’t breathing.

(—And neither was his dad

—Phin’s heartbeat was so loud in his ears but in a vicious burst of yellow, she was gone—)

A sickening pop under his palms has Miles dragging in a ragged breath, his own lungs concaving under the fear.

(— _you killed Spider-man, you killed Peter Parker, you’re no better than any villain_ —)

Miles yanks Peter’s mask off, dipping down to breathe in two rescue breaths into Peter before returning to his chest.

He prays which Miles never does but, _shit,_ does he pray. Peter can’t die, he _can’t._

Peter always gets back up and he can’t ever leave Miles alone—

(— _Not that weird._

_Miles… get out of here._

_You saved my bacon, Miles._

_I trust you—_

_Flashes of blazing flames and his dad’s lifeless eyes. They were so wide, glassy; he didn’t expect it._

_Peter’s encouraging tone, urging Miles to punch Spider-man in the face._

_Peter’s slumped over, a skirmish with Rhino, their first instance with Roxxon. He’s been young then, didn’t know that Peter would mean to him like he does now—)_

A sharp gasp makes Miles shudder, staring at Peter’s quaking form. Peter is blurry from the tears in his eyes, and the breaths Peter is taking in are still choked, ragged, pained, but he’s _breathing,_ and Miles can’t—

He can’t fucking think because this is not how he’s supposed to realize he’s in fucking love with Peter Parker.

“Miles.”

“Pete,” he sobs, lurching down, pressing his forehead into Peter’s collarbone. Peter’s reaching out, hands quick to clutch onto him, and it’s a soft reminder that Peter is _alive._

_He’s alive._

“Rhino—”

“Down. You were hit, badly and I just—"

“Shh, I got you, m’okay, Miles. Don’t worry.”

“I thought you were—I thought I—”

Miles can’t recognize his own voice, thick and wet and pained. Miles tries to pull away, but Peter only holds him tighter, keeping him close despite the fact Peter must be in pain because of his ribs that _Miles_ broke.

“’M okay, I’m okay. You saved me, Miles. I’m safe.”

Miles sobs, shivering despite the warmth Peter is giving, and they hold each other.

* * *

Miles loves being Spider-man, he does, truly. But there are some things in this line of work that he can easily do without. Like the stabbings, particularly.

Miles hates being stabbed, because he hates how metal feels when it’s _inside_ him, and somehow stab wounds are one of the easier injuries to obtain when he’s not careful.

Thankfully, he doesn’t need stitches, as per Peter’s observations. Not that Peter is any way is qualified as a nurse or a doctor, but Peter had been in this gig far longer than Miles has, and he’s had experience with wounds multiple times over.

Besides, the wound isn’t so bad. The wound closes right up when he’s in the shower, the water a light pink as he stares at the floor, draining away completely.

He shakes away the ache in his joints, knowing the pain is only temporary, and grabs a towel to dry himself up, putting some clothes on, but leaves his shirt unbuttoned, knowing that Peter will want to disinfect it and probably bandage. He’s a worrywart like that.

He steps out to the living area. Peter’s situated on the couch, already out of his suit and in his pajamas. It was a late-night mugging that Miles had stopped, and Peter just happened to swing by and see Miles get stabbed. Miles is pretty sure Peter had a freak-out while he was showering.

Knowing Miles can take those types of beatings don’t necessarily take that worry away instantly. It’s the same for him too. Miles can only imagine what was going through Peter’s head when he saw that knife disappear into his protégé.

Peter turns around, grinning, patting the empty spot beside him. Miles eyes the bottle of disinfectant in his hand and sighs, “Damn. Okay, here we go.”

He goes to sit beside the older man, slumping right into the couch, eyes closed in bliss, resigning himself to the fact Peter will be touching _him._

_Can’t be too bad, I suppose._

There’s a long lull of silence, longer than Peter needs to get everything ready, and he peeks one eye open.

Peter is staring at his body.

Or—more accurately—at his soul mark.

Miles glances down. In that familiar chicken scratch he’s had since the second he was born. _All good._

Peter is silent, still staring. And Miles can’t handle the scrutiny any longer, “What’s up, man?”

Peter’s eyes flicker up, and—the look on his face sends heat deep into Miles’ bones. Peter’s face does something strange, twitching, twisting, lips pulled down like words are piling up behind his teeth.

But, in a blink, all of that is wiped away, stifling emotions vanishing, eyes blank.

Miles blinks, something in his chest coiling tight; watches as Peter picks up the disinfectant and a clean roll of bandage. Peter’s body is all tense, movement robotic and stiff, but his tone is heavily casual.

“Your soul mark?”

Miles gaping mouth closes with a soft click, and he searches for anything in his mind to say.

Peter knows the story behind his mark, had glimpsed at the emotions that Miles is still harboring for his missing soulmate. It’s something he still needs time to get over, even when he tries his best not to dwell on a person he doesn’t even know he’ll see again.

But now, Miles has someone else who’s equally important to him. Someone who is clearly bothered by Miles’ soul mark, and Miles has no idea why.

“Yeah,” Miles manages, throat dry. He feels self-conscious in a way that Peter has never made him feel before. The air is different, weird and thick—and it all points to Miles’ soul mark.

Miles pulls on his shirt, covering it partially so Peter doesn’t have to keep looking at it. Peter barely pauses when he turns to Miles, reaching out to clean the wound on Miles’ left side, away from his mark.

He knows seeing someone else’s soul mark is a little heavy, not quite taboo but not something that’s really openly discussed or thrown about, so Miles understands his discomfort. He doesn’t want Peter to feel that way, even if his heart does squeeze—the old tide of grief washing over him.

With or without a soulmate, Miles gets that Peter is here, and he’s right in front of Miles. That’s more than his soulmate could ever be. He’s just a faceless stranger who was kind.

Miles never did quite forget that apologetic smile.

“So, how’s the new hologram update coming?” Miles asks, trying for lightheartedness.

Peter’s timid smile is able to make most of the cold go away. Miles is right where he’s supposed to be.

* * *

It’s supposed to be an easy in-and-out mission.

Recon, Peter had said. Not as Spider-men, but as themselves.

It’s in some swanky club too. This mission needed much more stealth than their red suits could ever warrant. And Miles’ invisibility couldn’t hold forever. So, they simply went in as Ben and Aaron, and somehow, they didn’t ask for Miles’ fake ID, so that’s a plus.

(—if Peter uses his uncle’s name, then so can Miles, it’s only fair—)

But things got a little complicated when Peter wasn’t so subtle with sneaking off into the higher office floors. He’d caught unwanted attention.

They could hear the bodyguards checking each room down the hall. Both of their senses telling them to go.

Even Miles can tell that Peter is panicking, because his face is pinched-up, eyes darting around the room to look for an escape route. Miles can turn invisible easily, but Peter can’t hide anywhere—can’t climb on the ceiling otherwise it will just expose his own identity.

“You’ve got to turn invisible, Miles. If they catch me, then so be it.”

“I’m not leaving, Pete, not without you,” Miles hisses under his breath, glancing nervously at the door.

The closest bodyguard is two doors down and Miles knows there isn’t much time left.

He looks up at Peter, who rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck, getting ready for a fight that Miles _desperately_ wants to avoid. If they get caught here, there is no telling what is going to happen. The mission would be compromised, and Miles doesn’t like the idea that he and Peter will be the only ones walking out of here by the end of the night without a scratch. It would raise too many questions. He doesn’t want to risk their own identities, not for a mission like this.

So, he makes the split-second decision.

He pushes Peter up against the wall, in plain view of the door, making sure that anyone who walks in will not mistake what is happening.

Peter recoils in his hands, staring down at Miles with wide eyes—and Miles hates that so, so, much, that Peter can’t ever look at him in any other way.

“Miles, _what_ —”

“Do you trust me?” Miles asks, stern, hoping he doesn’t look as freaked out as he feels. Peter eases in his hands. Peter’s unwavering confidence in Miles never ceases to amaze the teenager.

One door down.

“Of course, I do, Miles.”

Miles has learned the importance of not lying and scheming his way around things. He’d learned it after Roxxon, after Uncle Aaron. But this is—this is different, okay?

What Miles thinks of Peter… it—it isn’t worth mentioning—it’s not the point.

It was never going to be brought up. It’s nothing like hiding his alter ego from Phin. It’s _different._

Peter doesn’t deserve to be saddled with someone like Miles—who’s still half in love with his missing soulmate, and fully in love with someone seven years older than him. Peter will _never_ find out about what Miles truly feels.

Which is why lying would be okay here.

He’ll say later it was for the mission, to save Peter from getting his identity and the mission compromised.

But Miles knows why he does it.

Miles can’t have either of them, his soulmate and Peter. He knows that for a fact.

Miles’ soulmate is nothing but a faceless memory. Miles doesn’t even know if he’ll ever meet him again.

Peter is still in love with MJ. But—he’s right in front of Miles, right in his hands and Miles _can_ do the things he’s wanted for so long now, even if it means that Peter won’t ever be his. And that’s—okay.

It’s fine. Miles will manage.

He just wants this one thing, just this one thing from Peter, even if he can’t have it in the right way—where things aren’t so complicated, where Peter isn’t still in love with MJ and he’s at least looking Miles with eyes filled with more than fixed platonic affection.

He’ll lie because he doesn’t want to lose another friend, the same way he lost—

Anyway, it’s _not_ the same. Peter and her aren’t the same. Peter would understand the reason why he’d keep it from him, Peter is nice like that, if he’d ever find out—but he won’t.

He surges in and kisses Peter.

(—Peter doesn’t ever have to know this is what Miles wants—just without all the pretending.

Miles has to accept this is all he’ll ever have, even if it’s hurried and quick and only a means to an end.

He’ll lie if it means keeping Peter in his life.)

Peter is frighteningly still in his hands.

The footsteps are getting closer.

Miles just hopes that they get here quick enough before Peter pushes him away or breaks their covers

Peter’s arms snake around his waist, pulling him _in._

Miles gasps and everything goes utterly blank and then, Peter.

Peter takes that opportunity to slip in his tongue, teasing Miles like he’s—

Shit. Peter is kissing him back.

This is—This is so much worse.

Miles could have survived without knowing how Peter tastes like, how he feels under his hands. He could have moved on, once everything was done and over. But now that he has seen the other side, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage as well as he’d predicted. And that’s a horrible thought. What’s worse, he can’t force himself to pull away.

Miles wants to cry, but then Peter brings a hand up, covering Miles’ cheek, and his hand is so big, so warm, thumb so gentle as he caresses his cheekbone—and the hole is his chest careens wide open, gaping.

The way they fit, the way they mold into each other, how Peter curves forward, pulls Miles in as if he can’t get enough—it’s heady and addictive and so fucking terrible that Miles knows there’s no way he’s not going to be heartbroken once this is over.

“Hey, what are you two doing—oh, uh—”

Miles pulls away, ready to act sly and coy to get them out. But then Peter grabs his face, pulls him in again, and kisses him once, twice, three times more—chaste and quick, like Miles is already something familiar.

Peter finally pulls away to turn to the door, smiling sheepishly at the bodyguard. His lips are red, shiny. His hair is all over the place too. Miles didn’t even notice his hands were wandering.

“Sorry, we’ll be right out of your hair.” The bodyguard shoots them a look, before throwing the door open and showing them the way out. Peter doesn’t let go of him, slinging his arm over Miles’ shoulder as they walk out of the office down the hallway.

Miles’ mouth is too dry, his ears ringing. The entire walk, Peter doesn’t stop squeezing his shoulders, a silent reassurance that only makes the turmoil within Miles worse.

It’s a crisis averted, but Miles had jumped right into another one.

He has to play this right.

They don’t stop walking until they’re out of the building, hidden in an alleyway. Miles keeps a safe distance once Peter’s hand slips away.

Miles pulls the folder from the inside of his jacket, as well as the thumb drive in his pocket, passing them over to Peter with a stiff smile. Miles can’t read his expression, not when Miles is still freaking out on the inside.

“So, that’s a job well-done, then?” Miles asks, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Peter has that strange look on his face again, pinched and flickering with complex emotions Miles can’t pick apart. Then, like Miles expected, his face closes up, those emotions wiped away. Peter opens his mouth, ready to say something—

Miles’ phone vibrates in his pocket, and he’s never felt so relieved to be interrupted in Spider-man business.

“It’s my mom. She’s asking me to buy groceries,” Miles says, keeping his eyes fixed on his screen. He knows how much of a jerk he’s being, but Miles can’t stop. He doesn’t know what else to do.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Peter open and close his mouth, blinking rapidly. He’s frowning, but Miles ignores the prick of guilt and says, “We’re done here, right?”

He looks up then, and he sees the one emotion that flashes across Peter’s face before it wisps away like dust again.

_Hurt._

Miles bites the inside of his cheek, watching as Peter turns away, staring at the ground—subdued.

“Yeah. We’re done here. You can go now.”

Miles nods curtly, feeling the twinge of his soul mark under his shirt. He stands there for another moment, a phrase reverberating in his head so loud he can’t stop it from spilling out. “Thank you. For—you know, keeping up with our covers. We would’ve been screwed if that didn’t work. So, yeah. Thanks, Pete.”

He turns and walks right out of there, not wanting to see the look on Peter’s face.

***

They don’t talk about it, afterwards.

It’s too weird to discuss it between _mentor and mentee_ , and the context of the situation is too serious enough to joke around about as _bros_. Miles did what he did in the first place because Peter almost had his identity compromised, and Miles didn’t want to put him in that kind of trouble. Even if it was probably the worst mistake he’s made.

He had kissed Peter and had a glimpse of what he could never have.

There is no way he can go back now, not when he’s tasted Peter, held Peter the way he’s wanted since he figured out the mess in his head, when he’s already felt Peter breathe him in like he’d wanted Miles the way Miles wanted him and that’s—that’s

The worst, really. It’s the goddamn worst.

Because Peter isn’t just someone to him. He isn’t just his friend, isn’t someone he admires and looks up to just because being Spider-man. Peter is so, so, so, much more, more than Miles can really fully understand now, the roots having taken place the moment he’d met Peter at his dad’s funeral.

Peter isn’t just a partner, he’s someone he’s fallen for, someone who Miles can understand and confide in, someone who’s there and who promises to stay. Peter is someone who’s done more than his soulmate—the person he’s supposed to love for his entire life, who’s the _one for him—_ has ever been or will ever be.

Miles can’t imagine someone taking Peter’s place, not in his heart or in his life.

It is why Miles isn’t sure if he even wants to meet his soulmate. He doesn’t want to know what will happen then. He knows he can’t have both, can’t even have either of them now.

He’s a disappointment to the both of them, he knows that.

Miles can’t love Peter the way Peter loves him, not anymore.

And his soulmate won’t ever be able to have Miles’ fully, wholly, when half of him already belongs to Peter.

He can’t have Peter either. Peter, who’s too good, who’s so kind and giving but so lonely sometimes, who has MJ and who values other’s people safety above his own.

Miles doesn’t deserve him. And he won’t have him. Not in this life and the next.

He’ll just have to live on with his life this way.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since that club skirmish.

Things between Peter and he are still a little awkward, particularly when they’re alone and things are too much and they’re both so aware of each other’s bodies.

Anyways.

Miles promised himself he’d forget about what happened that night. It’s better that way.

Today, he’d volunteered to help with Peter move again, along with MJ’s help. Only Peter bailed on them half-way, out in the city dealing with a robbery downtown. Miles had offered to help, but Peter urged him to stay.

Peter had apologized profusely for leaving both of them to help him unpack, but he and MJ only shared a look and promptly kicked Peter out. Peter always lends a hand whenever he can—hell, he dedicated an entire career out of it. He should learn how to accept help sometimes too.

Miles is unpacking some of Peter’s old work stuff, from when he was working with Dr. Octavius.

Most of it are just old mechanical parts, some memorabilia from the grants that used to fund them, even a few research papers. Lots of handwritten notes too—messy and hurried, like the worst chicken scratch Miles has ever seen. He rolls his eyes.

“What cha got there?”

Miles gestures the opened pile of notes in his hand, “One of Peter’s drafts of his and Dr. Octavius’ papers. I can’t read anything, his handwriting is so bad.”

MJ laughs, placing down the last box of clothes onto the counter. “Yup. That’s Peter, alright. His handwriting gets really bad when he’s writing when he’s focused. He can’t quite write as fast as his brain can think. So, you get that mess.”

Miles snorts, putting down the pile of papers off to the side, reaching down deeper into the box.

His fingers brush against another stack of what seem to be papers and pulls it out, surprised to see a bunch of film instead.

It’s pictures paperclipped together. He takes off the paper clip and starts to thumb through the stack. There’s a bunch of pictures of conferences Peter attended, a few of Dr. Octavius presenting on a stage, lots of pictures of their finished projects, and there’s one of both Peter and Dr Octavius posing inside of a fancy-looking building.

They’re happy here, grinning widely at the camera. They must have asked someone to take the photo. The both of them look a little younger too. This must have been a couple years ago.

Miles stops, squints and brings the photo closer.

 _Oscorp Science Centre_.

It’s read in bold words on the pamphlet that Peter is holding.

In tinier font, underneath it:

_County Middle School Science Fair Winners_

The rest of the stack of pictures spill all over the floor.

It can’t—it can’t be—

_“That’s it! Take it. Don’t let anyone see,” Miles whisper-yells, grinning as Phin pockets the machine like they didn’t just do it in front of five other people._

_“Got it, let’s go.” Phin’s grinning too, probably as giddy as he is, body thrumming with unleashed energy. They about to break into a freaking museum! How cool was that?_

_Miles turns, ready to continue their little ‘mission’._

_A shoulder collides right into his, knocking him back. Miles feels the uptick in his heart from the sudden crash._

_“Oh—"_

_“Woah, man—” he looks up, and he’s faced with hazel eyes, slightly flushed pale face and a kind surprised smile, “—sorry.”_

_Dark hair, kind brown-green eyes warming under the sunlight beaming in, grin turning into something apologetic._

_“All good.” His voice is warm, a little dazed._

_Dr. Octavius glances at Miles, between the two of them, and Peter grins, bright and beaming—_

Miles sucks in a breath, his hands trembling so hard he’s surprised the picture isn’t falling out of his hands

_and Miles’ heart had skipped a beat, but he’d thought it was because they were almost caught stealing tech, not because of—_

Miles soul mark pulsates, his heart skipping just like it did three years ago.

God, Peter really did look younger, he must’ve been still fresh out of college, new to being under Dr. Octavius' tutelage and the freedom of adult life, still free from the shackles of guilt, from the pain and grief like the Peter Miles knows now is used to.

And he didn’t know it was Miles who was his soulmate either because—

_“Yeah. I kind of lost mine too. I didn’t realize it was them until after I stopped a whole robbery and ordered my pizza. So, I’m pretty sure that my soulmate is pissed about that.”_

And, oh god, then Peter figured it out because—

_Peter’s eyes flicker up, and—the look on his face sends heat deep into Miles’ bones. Peter’s face does something strange, twitching, twisting, lips pulled down like words are piling up behind his teeth._

_But, in a blink, all of that is wiped away, stifling emotions vanishing, eyes blank._

_“Your soul mark?”_

Miles’ heart is drumming hard against his ribcage, the realizations and the weight plummeting down fast on him. He’d kissed Peter, and Peter _knew, he knew, oh my god he knew_

And he didn’t tell Miles.

Because Miles didn’t know.

_All good._

_Sorry._

“Miles? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Miles whips around, eyes wide, staring at MJ, who has a hand reached out for him, brows furrowed, worried.

Peter is in love with MJ.

Peter lost his soulmate—so did Miles.

Miles kissed Peter.

Miles’ is Peter’s soulmate.

_Peter is—_

“I—I gotta go,” he breathes out, shuddering, and he knows he must be looking crazy right now—frantic, eyes wide and shaking like he’d seen a ghost and he _had_

because Peter is his soulmate, the person he’s been grieving for years, the person who’s been the cause of heartache. It wasn’t some faceless stranger, a blurred memory. It was _Peter._

“Miles, you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?”

“I think Peter is my soulmate.”

MJ blinks at him, eyes wide as his. Then her face turns resolute, jerking her head to the window.

“East tenth street. You can’t miss it.”

Miles grabs onto her hand briefly, nodding, “Thanks.”

He whips off his sweater, revealing the suit underneath, and kicks off his sweatpants. He sprints, leaps out of the window, swinging out of the apartment building.

It can’t be—It can't be Peter because that doesn’t make sense—

But it does, doesn’t it?

Miles struggles to breathe.

It doesn’t make sense in a way that makes everything make perfect sense.

Peter had said he lost his soulmate too, a shared trait that brought them closer together after that conversation. He’d said he didn’t realize it until it was too late, and both of them didn’t say where or when, didn’t say how they met or what they said. Nothing. Nothing that would have tipped each other off.

They were talking to the person they lost without even realizing it.

The dinner at his place, the way he’d seen Peter for a split second, why looking at him then—

(with the living room lights warm and bright enough it made a perfect echoed image of what happened on that faithful day. Hazel eyes, shifting between green to gold in the glint of light)

—lit a memory in Miles’ head, like an old friend he’d met years ago, blurred faces and imperfect recollection falling through his fingers faster than Miles could figure it out.

How it seemed like every time Miles needed him—how he’d called out for his soulmate, for _Peter—_ he’d came running at the perfect moment.

How it had felt like Miles was dying when Peter stopped breathing, how his world cracked fell apart the longer Peter didn’t move.

Why it had hurt so much when he talked to MJ like that.

Why he’d felt his soul mark twinge when Peter was _hurt—_

So many clues, so many fucking hints right under his nose, and Miles never once even suspected it.

* * *

Miles knows there’s something wrong the moment he’d swung into the street where Peter is. He can’t differentiate whether it’s coming from their bond or if it’s because of his spidey-sense, but Miles _knows_ there’s something wrong.

He’s proven right when there’s several police cars surrounding the entrance to the bank.

 _A bank_. They really couldn’t have gone any more subtle, huh?

Miles doesn’t waste time to make a plan, simply swings in blind, popping invisible the moment he drops to the ground. The doors are open, not that it matters because every opening is broken in, bullets and shattered glass everywhere.

The inside of the building is void of any noise. There’s not a single gunshot or even men yelling. It’s total silence. His soul mark burns.

Something is very, _very_ wrong.

He’s sprinting now, still invisible as he steps out into the large space. The first thing he sees is the hanging cocoon of men webbed up together in classic Spider-man fashion.

The second thing he notices is the trail of blood.

And no Peter.

Droplets, deep red, lots of it. Alarms start ringing in his head and there’s a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach.

He starts to run again, following the direction of the blood, flying up the stairs, and he desperately tries not to think about the fact that every spot of blood is getting bigger, more and more red, red, red.

The trail ends at a closed exit door that leads out to a balcony, at the back of the building.

There’s a red handprint right on the handle.

He shoves it open, and it slams against the wall—the impact strong enough to make the figure on the floor flinch, head turning towards Miles.

“Peter.” He melts back into visibility, and he sees the tightened tension leak out of the man. Peter is laying right in the middle of the open balcony, but the building over on the next block is big enough to cast deep shadows over both of them. No one will see them here.

His feet move on their own accord and he feels the fear choke him. It’s near painful, how much his soul mark burns over his ribs.

He’s down on his knees, hands grabbing onto Peter to roll him over and—

_There’s so much blood._

“Miles, wait—” his hands don’t take too long to be soaking in red too, pulling at Peter’s suit to tear the spandex open. The stain over Peter’s suit, over his stomach and sternum, is growing. His suit is nearly black, so deep and soaked in Peter’s _blood, Peter’s blood—_

“Miles, please, hold on—” weak, feeble hands try to hold onto his wrists, try to capture Miles’ trembling hands like he can stop Miles.

(Dimly, he notices that Peter sounds panicked, scared—it’s strange. Peter is never scared.)

He can see the bullet wounds from here. Onetwothreefour bullets in a Spider-man is already too much, even Miles knows this.

“Stop talking,” Miles fumbles out, tearing Peter’s suit even further because he doesn’t want the spandex to hinder Peter’s healing factor, melting cloth and flesh together. He tears until Peter’s chest is free, planes of paling skin, flesh quaking from the rattling breaths Peter is taking

(—he might have punctured a lung—)

and his eyes are roaming over, looking for any more bullet holes, of jagged flesh and gaping wounds—

“I love you,” Peter rasps, deep and throaty and Miles can’t, can’t, _can’t stand_ how much effort it takes for Peter to say those words, when he shouldn’t be wasting a single breath—his grip on Miles’ wrists tight and searing.

“Do you hear me? I love you, Miles. I didn’t tell—It’s not because I don’t—”

Miles’ eyes trail to the right and

_Woah, man, sorry_

Miles stops.

His handwriting. His words. Blood-stained and winding right under his left pec, right under Peter’s heart.

And everything just _clicks._

“Tell me again,” Miles manages, but his voice sounds weird, scrapped out and raw, “tell me when you’re okay, you got it, man? Pete? Tell me again when we’re out of here.”

Peter’s eyes are already fluttering, grip on Miles’ wrist slackening and it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world—

“I love you,” Peter mumbles again. His hand drops into Miles’ lap.

* * *

He takes him to F.E.A.S.T., Peter’s first rule rattling around in his head— _no hospitals—_ but that warning isn’t any louder than every other thing screaming for attention.

Miles had never moved so fast, he swears, which is saying something when he has a hundred, seventy-pound man over his shoulder, bleeding out quicker than Miles would have liked. He used the tatters of Peter’s suit to soak up as much of the blood as possible and webbed up his wounds, hoping it’s enough to stop the bleeding.

When he gets Peter to the building safely, he’d made sure to get through the roof, not wanting to scare the other people there. The medics stationed at F.E.A.S.T. only wearing grim expressions before nodding and asking Miles to wait outside. They’ve gotten familiar enough with the two Spider-men not to blink at something like this.

Once, Miles had come in with three stab wounds—without Peter’s knowledge, of course—and they looked after him with the utmost care, not once asking for Miles to take off his mask except for taking his meds.

— _Blood, blood, so much blood, endless and flowing—_

Miles rests his masked face in his hands, careful not to breathe. His hands are still dripping in his blood, and the copper smell is overwhelming.

God, the way it just… _clicked._

Just like that.

Just like how ma and dad told him it would feel. Like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

Even when they’ve known each other for two years and said their words nearly four years ago, even after all their shared history, everything just felt a little more _right_ when he’d finally accepted Peter as his soulmate, when it really hit him that Peter Parker wore his words right under his heart like a well-kept secret.

Peter knew, for _weeks_ and never said a single word about it.

He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting out in the hallway, curled up in a plastic rickety chair until he hears footfalls approaching him. He looks up. It’s MJ heading in his direction. He can’t read her expression, and it’s not like he’s really trying to, his head still running on leftover adrenaline.

MJ pulls up a chair next to him, close enough that she can reach a hand over his shoulders, squeezing his arm gently. Miles can’t help but melt against her, a little bit of the coiled tension seeping away.

“He’ll make it. He’s made it out alive with worse.” Miles nods stiffly. “But I know that’s just pointless to say. You never really get used to it.”

Four bullet holes. Right next to where his soul mark was. God—

“I’m sorry,” Miles whispers, the chasm of his chest shoving out the statement before he can stop himself. MJ doesn’t say anything, and Miles allows himself the reprieve of letting the stress lay in someone’s hands, soaking up the comfort, even for just a moment.

“He’d thought we were soulmates, you know.”

Miles’ opens his eyes but doesn’t move his head from the spot on MJ’s shoulder. Something about her makes him feel warm, comforted.

“That’s sort of how we met,” MJ laughs, tone a little wistful. “He’d bumped into me at school. And Pete was never the type of guy that people would give a second look, you know? He was—”

“A nerd,” Miles and MJ say simultaneously, laughing softly. “Yeah. He showed me a couple pictures. He was smaller than _me_ when he was my age _._ ”

She hums and continues, “I remember saying sorry, and from the look on Peter’s face, you could tell he thought he’d met his soulmate. No one gave him the time of day. So, I was a friendly face, plus someone who said his words.”

MJ shrugs, wistful and a touch amused. “By the time he’d realized his mistake, we both liked each other enough to continue what we had. And well—the rest was history.”

Miles huffs a laugh, the sound a little more nasally than it had any right to be.

“Peter’s lucky to have you. Someone who understands. You know that, right?”

Miles’ throat tightens, blinking furiously. “I’m the luckier one.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “He’d say the same thing about himself. And he has. Even before he figured it out.”

Miles sits up then, slowly, eyes catching MJ’s even under the mask. “He told you?”

MJ’s lips twitch. “I was the only one he told. He didn’t want it getting out that his soulmate was the other Spider-man. It’d paint a bigger target on your back, more than the one you already have.”

Miles looks away from her kind smile, staring at his blood-soaked fingertips. It’s dried now, flaking. “Peter has so many enemies, and you know how he feels about putting you in any more danger than you’re already in.”

Miles laughs dryly. “Yeah. Kind of hypocritical of the guy, isn’t it?”

“That’s Peter Parker for you. He’d get his hand chopped off if it means guaranteeing everyone in his life stays safe.”

Peter is over-protective. But it comes with the job. Not to mention, the baggage too. Peter has lost so much, and Miles doesn’t want to be another weight he has to carry around, not when Peter is already doing so many incredible things for him and everybody in New York.

Miles really doesn’t deserve Peter, not in any capacity. What has Miles done, to be deserving of being Peter’s soulmate?

God, he’ll never get used to that.

He feels a knuckle knock gently against his temple. “You’re overthinking. I can tell. You and Peter are so alike sometimes.”

He turns towards her, and her scrutinizing gaze melts into something softer. “You don’t have to overthink this. Because Peter will already be doing it enough for the both of you.”

MJ gets to her feet, hand now on Miles’ other shoulder. “I’m going off to greet the others. You’ll be okay here?”

Miles nods but then MJ’s words echo in his head and he can’t help but ask, “Hey, what did you mean by Peter told you? Before he figured it out? About the ‘being the luckier one’ thing?”

MJ knocks her knuckle against his temple again, grin turning into something teasing. “Again, you’re overthinking this. Peter’s a simple man. He’s just better at hiding what he really thinks, especially from people who worry for him.”

She squeezes his shoulder before stepping away, “And you worry about Peter as much as he does you.”

And she’s gone.

Miles looks down at his hands, and he shakes his head, getting to his feet, walking to the bathroom. He’s not going to mope, not when he’s probably going to have the toughest conversation in his life.

When he’s allowed back into the ‘operating’ room, Miles can’t help but wince at the state of Peter.

He looks… sick, weak. They had cut the rest of the upper part of his suit off, wanting to get the wound properly treated, but kept on the mask. Miles is left staring at his unmoving mask, his still face, on a man covered in gauze and wrapped in bandages. He locks the door behind him. He doesn’t want an accidental audience for this.

He pulls up a chair and sits there, by Peter’s side. He pulls off his mask, finding it a little easier to breathe.

His fingers can’t stop themselves, reaching out to graze over his words.

_Woah, man, sorry._

Impersonal, quick, mindless.

How many times has Peter heard this phrase throughout his entire life? How many times must he have asked the person if he’s said their words.

The time he and Peter met, it was clear they were distracted by other things; why it didn’t hit either of them until they separated. Or—did Peter know immediately? Realized it as quick as he’d bumped into Miles, but because of Miles’ mundane reaction, mainly passed it off as another regular person.

A large hand comes up, encases his own and Miles’ eyes move up to see Peter’s lenses narrow at him, shuttering, adjusting as Peter gets his bearings.

His soul mark _sings._

“Miles.” He breathes his name out like a prayer, and Miles can’t find the words to say. How can he? When he’s spent the last four years agonizing over meeting his soulmate again. How can he compile four years of grief, two years of kindred friendship, and two months of pining? You can’t.

“I love you.” He says that instead. Because it’s true. And it rings truer than anything else that Miles could have tried to explain to him.

_Peter’s a simple man._

The hand covering his pulls away, the warmth leaving his skin—he turns away, eyes narrowing to focus on anything else but Miles

_He’s just better at hiding what he really thinks._

Miles doesn’t know where she gets that thought from, because from where he’s sitting, Peter is as easy to read as a book.

_Peter’s lucky to have you. Someone who understands._

“You were supposed to say that,” Miles says, watching in fascination as Peter does the equivalent of a gaping fish under his mask.

“Yeah, I was,” he chokes out, turning to face Miles again.

He doesn’t stumble under his gaze, because there are questions that Miles wants answered, and he’s not leaving until he gets them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter flinches. Miles looks down at their hands. His hand isn't small by any means, but it is compared to Peter's, especially when it hold him like this, protective and ever-present. Miles slips out his own hand to intertwine his and Peter's together. He looks up at Peter, then, expectant. Peter sighs, heavy and tired.

“Going right for the jugular, huh?” Peter mumbles, laying back on the pillows. He’s staring at the ceiling. Miles can tell, even when Peter's wearing the mask, because Miles doesn’t have that warmth in the back of his neck he gets whenever Peter looks at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me? And don’t bother lying. I can call MJ up right now to threaten you for me.”

That gets Peter to crack a smile, only for it to flicker away when he realizes what Miles is really asking for.

“There’s things you just can’t know, Miles. Because it… it just complicates things. The fact we’re even talking right now is complicating things.”

“I lied,” Miles says, and he can feel that heat gather in his neck, white lenses narrowing at him. “About the mission thing. I—I, uh, I kissed you because I thought—I thought it was all I’d ever have.”

Miles shuts his mouth then, not wanting to expose himself further than anymore he’s already done. But even with that brief confession, it’s enough for Peter to say, quietly, “I thought I’d never measure up to the soulmate you lost.”

Miles crumbles at that, and words spill out like a gaping wound, “I loved you, man. Even before I found out. Before you saw the soul mark. I was—”

Miles sucks in a breath, hating the fact that he decided to take off his mask when Peter is still so clearly wearing his own. “—I thought I had to choose between you two. If I ever met my soulmate. And I thought my soulmate wouldn’t want me because I—I love you, Pete.”

Peter’s lenses are as wide as they can go, and they’re fixed right on Miles, but Miles doesn’t stop, “But, you know, that was—that was stupid of me because it’s not like I could have either of you. Since I thought I lost my soulmate forever and well, I thought you were still with MJ.”

“No, we’re not—”

“Yeah, I know. I figured. We talked before I came in.”

Peter stares at him, then nods slowly.

“I would have chosen you, by the way,” Miles says because his mouth doesn’t ever shut up. Peter’s mask is still, the lenses not even moving. “Even if my soulmate was someone else. I don’t think I could’ve—”

Miles shakes his head then, finally grabbing a hold of his tongue. He’s overshared, maybe, just a bit.

“Sorry,” Miles mutters, instinct kicking in.

“All good,” Peter says softly.

Miles laughs, choked-up and overwhelmed. He looks up, staring at the red mask, and wishes he can see the kind smile, the hazel eyes that melted from green to gold to dark pools of warm brown.

It’s as if Peter peered into his soul and _understood._ Peter’s hand comes up slowly, grips the top of his head and pulls off his mask.

Miles’ heart is thumping so hard he’s sure Peter can hear it. But he doesn’t care, not when Peter is reaching out for him, and Miles only closes the distance, face leaning into the other man's open palm.

“I love you,” Peter says. Those eyes are all that Miles sees—soft brown hair, apologetic smile.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Peter says.

“Did you know I was your soulmate? All those years ago?” Miles says quietly.

Peter tilts his head, considers it. “Sort of. I remember I realized that you said my words, but for one, I was already so far away, and it was already night by the time I realized, and two—”

Peter’s hand twitches, as if it wants to get away, but Miles only holds him there against his cheek, urging Peter on.

“You were still a kid, Miles. So, so young. I couldn’t have you back then. And I think a part of me didn’t really want to find out if you were my soulmate.”

Miles huffs a laugh, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Yeah, I understand. Ma and dad tried not to talk about it after I told them what happened. I think they were a little bit relieved I didn’t go out searching for you.”

Peter laughs a little then, eyes warm. “I didn’t know it was you. At the funeral. By that time, the memory had faded enough that I didn’t remember how you looked like.”

“It was the same for me,” Miles says, leaning over the edge of the bed to reach his own hand out, fingers brushing against Peter’s smiling cheek. “All I remember was your smile. God, your smile, man. Has anyone told you you’ve got a beautiful smile?”

Peter cracks up but melts into Miles’ touch right over his flushed cheek, mirroring Miles’ besotted expression. “Not this much, I don’t think.”

“There’s more where that came from,” Miles tacks on quietly. Peter is his soulmate. _God._ Miles _really_ will never get used to that.

“Can I kiss you?” Miles asks.

Peter goes still under his hands.

“For real, this time,” Miles adds.

Back then, when they said each other’s words, they weren’t ready for each other. Not yet. Peter still needed time to grow as Spider-man, needed to be more sure of himself. And Miles still hadn’t experienced the grief, the weight that pushed him to be better and greater than he is, to become Spider-man and fill in his own shoes.

Miles supposed that they couldn’t have found each other at a better time.

Miles may have lost his soulmate a long time ago.

But he found Peter Parker, and maybe that’s better.

Peter doesn’t say anything, only grabs Miles’ chin and pulls him in.

**Author's Note:**

> There it is, lads and lasses and enbies! I hope you guys enjoyed it!  
> What'd yall think? Drop a kudos or comment! it means a lot to me when you guys do <3
> 
> The amount of serotonin I get just from an ao3 email, absolutely addictive.💖💖
> 
> Also! Tell me what you guys are interested in seeing next!


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